


though the truth may vary

by sweetsinnerchild



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blaming, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Idealisation, not a happy fic, warnings for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsinnerchild/pseuds/sweetsinnerchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All you want to be is a good brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	though the truth may vary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rksins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rksins/gifts).



> inspired by rksins' [comic](http://rksins.tumblr.com/post/148734335468/sometimes-i-almost-hate-you-for-making-me-linger) and [quietwater's](http://quiettwater.tumblr.com/) excellent style
> 
> thanks to type for lookin thru
> 
> title from little talks by of monster and men
> 
> heed the warnings, please.

“if it wasn’t for you, i could have died.“

* * *

You want to believe you’re a good brother. 

Sans is a good brother, this is a fact. He encourages you to follow your dreams, and supports you in any way he can - the battle suit he made you is a clear testament to that. He also isn’t afraid to tell you otherwise to your face that crosswords are harder than junior jumble, a fact that is blatantly not true - but you didn’t need someone to agree with every word you say. He can be wrong, and he can be entirely exasperating with his incessant puns, but Sans is a good brother, no bones about that. 

But Sans is different from you - he doesn’t have much of a dream to follow, even though you know he loves science and space, and he deflects every single time you ask. _gotta focus on my hotdog corporate empire_ , he would say, or maybe _i’m aiming for a raise at the comedy club_. Anyone else would take it as it is, but you see that he’s never expanded beyond his booth in Hotland, or asked for the main act. 

He also never pursued those aspirations when they’ve gotten up out on the surface - but to be fair, you’ve changed, too. And maybe now he’s trying to find his way in this world full of opportunities. 

So maybe you try to be the best brother you can in your own way, showing him how you’re making progress in your cooking classes (you can make lasagna now!) and how you can manage yourself by paying the bills with the stipend from being the mascot for monsterkind. Maybe if you show him that you’re capable of taking care of yourself, you had thought, then he would be able to pursue his own passions. 

Maybe, maybe… 

(Of course, you had blustered, the Great Papyrus - 

_if it wasn’t for you_ , Sans had interrupted - and you notice how dark his eyesockets were, how tightly his hands were clenched, _i could have died_.)

…maybe you were entirely wrong.

* * *

You start noticing things.

You’ve known for a while now that Sans isn’t quite… happy in the conventional sense. It’s in the way he lets himself deflate the moment he thinks no one’s looking, his slouched posture looking less like laziness and more of a weight pressing down on his shoulders; the way he laughs at his own jokes, every instance as potent as the first. No one could laugh at the same jokes over and over, even if they had a terrible sense of humour. 

But no, you start noticing how he stills, just for a moment, whenever there’s a lull in the conversation when the two of you waiting for a train, eye sockets dark and empty and trained on the tracks. How he steps right up to the edge of a cliff, of somewhere high, and you had thought once that he was fearless, unflinching. He had been so cool, and you had wanted to be as brave as he was. 

Now this is all you can think of: every time, he had been so close. 

Every time, it was you who who stopped him, even though you never knew. 

Anyone else would call you a good brother, right? You stopped Sans from dying, from doing something irreversible. Dying is terribly sad - you would never see Sans again, only the thin film of his dust that you would spread over the things he love. You would never get to hug him, to listen to his japes, to talk to him about your progress - 

It’s sad, so terribly sad for you, and Frisk and Toriel and everyone else who knows him - but maybe it’s also so selfish of you, to want all these things that he maybe doesn’t want to give. 

( _if it wasn’t for you_.) 

Selfish of you to force him to live. Selfish of you to bind him to you, tying him up strings of obligation all under the name of family. Selfish of you to keep him alive in a world he doesn’t want to be in. 

And maybe if you were confronted with any other flaws, those that you pretend that they never existed but feels like dripping wounds out in the open for all to see - you would have pretended it away too. But selfishness is something that you can’t cast away with emphatic words and confident poses, not when Sans has sacrificed so much. 

Sans has sacrificed so, so much. 

( _Are you a good brother_ , the question stabs at you, with every single pulse of Sans’ magic, keeping him alive. _Are you a good brother, are you a good brother_.) 

You don’t want him to sacrifice anymore. 

* * *

And then one day, you’re at home. 

You’re at home and Sans is sprawled across the couch, leg and arm hanging off the edges. You gather him up into your arms (so small, so frail), and bring him to his bedroom. It’s almost a routine, settling him down on the bare mattress and pulling the sheets over him, tucking in the corners and putting the pillow under his head. You’ve done this so many times, after all. 

But this time, you pause. Your hand rests on the exposed curve of his collarbone, and for a wild second you think, how easy it would be. 

Your hand slips in, and slowly, gently, you hold your brother’s cervical vertebrae between your forefinger and your thumb.

If you press down, press harder…

(You know he won’t, as long as you’re still alive. You know that you’re the only one who can offer him this mercy, because in the aftermath all the tears you will shed will be real. All the other monsters will believe you and your brother’s dust all over you, because Sans had always kept to himself and those who know him also know that he’s never quite happy.

The narrative fits.)

Sans shifts - and you jerk away from your brother. _What were you thinking, what were you doing, why -_

(Your hands aren’t shaking.)

You leave the room, and pretend that everything is fine.

* * *

Sometimes, in your dreams:

Sans wakes up and you still have your hand around his delicate, delicate neck. 

He asks:

_why didn’t you do it?_

* * *

You aren’t a good brother after all.

**Author's Note:**

> have you ever thought about digging the nib of a pen deep into your veins, and imagine the way the ink would seep into your bloodstream, poisoning you bit by bit
> 
> i think about that sometimes


End file.
